The World Turned Upside Down 1: Year of the Stone
by Smertios
Summary: AU. Narcissa Malfoy’s first priority has always been the safety of her son. When she hears the prophecy, she knows that no safety lies in supporting the Dark Lord. When Dumbledore asks a peculiar favor of her, what will happen. HPGW DMHG
1. Chapter 1

The World Turned Upside Down 1: Year of the Stone 

**By Smertios**

**Summary:** AU. Narcissa Malfoy's first priority has always been the safety of her son. When she hears of the prophecy, she knows that no safety lies in supporting the Dark Lord. What will happen when Dumbledore asks a very particular favor of her in exchange for his protection?

**Pairings:** HP/GW, DM/HG

**Author's Notes: **I suppose that starting a second project while I haven't updated my other one in nearly 3 months is probably bad form, but I've been trying to finish the next chapter of Seeking a Center for a month now, and writer's block has prevented me from making any progress. I'm not gonna spoil the plot too much, but I will say that this story is not going to be your normal AU, and that those who don't like their stories to have points may not like this piece. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **The following applies to the whole of The World Turned Upside Down 1: Year of the Stone. I do not in any way shape or form own Harry Potter. I am making no money off of this piece, and my only recompense for my time and effort is positive reviews. As such, my speech is protected speech. Lawyers should look elsewhere for an easy target.

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Prologue: Kick It Over Smoother words; Nicer Suits 

_Don't be fooled: They're still wearing jackboots_

_The words get tired when you hear them every day_

_The Nazi's changed, but they never went away_

Enough Is Enough (Kick It Over) - Chumbawamba 

There are times when the world simply changes. To those living in the world, it can seem as though nothing has happened, until the historians have their say, but the changes occur all the same. Often, the fire of war forges a new era in the hail of bullets and bombs. These times of change are often tumultuous: bitter strife between the old and the new brings even the best men to blows. Sometimes, the change is repressed and left to fester, slowly rotting away the foundations of the old order, until one day, a gas main of tension is hit, and the world explodes anew.

This is what happened on October 31, 1981 when Tom Riddle: the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort fell at the hands of a young witch and an infant. Even as the villain was fleeing as fast as his incorporeal legs would take him towards the dark forests of Albania, suppression was already occurring. Old money and older power took control of a new government. Former Death Eaters were let off of the hook; their transparent excuses accepted at face value.

Worse yet, the causes of the first war were ignored: and, again, Pureblood and Muggleborn were separated. Non-human Magical Creatures were returned to their lower status; giants were persecuted back into hiding, werewolves were hunted and prevented from receiving jobs, and goblins were scapegoated for the economic collapse in the late '80s. In short, the stage was set for the return of the Dark Lord.

And return he did. Spellfire and the Dark Mark once again lit the night sky of Britain, terrorizing it's inhabitants. The bloody war brought low the highest. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, famed for his progressive reforms within the school, fell: slain by one of his own professors.

Eventually, the snake was again vanquished by none other than the boy who brought around his end the first time: Harry Potter. However, all was not well. In the ruins of three years of war, the scavengers were rising. Clad in the gaudy robes and pleasant masks of affluence, once again, former Death Eaters were taking control of governance. Indeed, on the night of the Dark Lord's fall, three men had already claimed the right to his throne, just as had happened in the void left by Grindelwald's fall. The stage was set for another war.

Another war would undermine what good remained in the Wizarding World. Corrupt, bigoted, and undemocratic as the Ministry was, it still housed good men and women like Arthur Weasley who oversaw the administration of the country, and kept the government on the right path. In this desperate situation, a single consciousness flashed into being. The Guardian saw, and the Guardian was displeased.

Merlin's final spell had been a powerful one: even by the standards of the legendary Wizard. His dying breath (for even Merlin's death upon a stake, cast into the sea by his own countrymen had not left him bitter) had tied all of his magic to the heart of Britain: entrusting it with the duty of keeping safe, sane, and healthy his homeland. The Guardian was the product.

The Guardian was power incarnate, but it was very limited. Its magical reservoirs were limited and slow to regenerate. As a result, it had to be careful in its interferences. Quickly it searched for a solution. To its frustration, so set was the course of history, that nothing it did would prevent another war within 30 years.

Although this was frustrating, the Guardian had a protocol for such an event (although it had not yet been used). In the case that there was no apparent solution to a problem, the Guardian was to move backwards in time until it found a point where it could make the smallest change possible that would rectify the situation. With an extra-planar pop the Guardian hurtled back in time seeking it's point of insertion.

Just like tossing a single pebble could bring down a mountainside in a vicious avalanche, changing time was a delicate task. Unforeseen consequence abounded, and the smallest alteration could make the world practically unrecognizable. Often the changes even seemed silly. Anything from moving a single branch to ensuring that the garbage made it to the curb could cause a major international crisis. Indeed, a Roman Wizard of some power had taken a month's jaunt back in time to prevent himself from going into debt, and found (to his horror) that his actions had brought the Roman Empire down (unfortunately, the mobs that came after him had left him unable to reverse his mistake). In this particular case, The Guardian's solution was slightly more elegant: he moved a fake wand.

Although it would be 13 years until Fred and George Weasley invented their famed fake wands that changed into rubber chickens or mice when waved, Zonkos had been releasing fake wands for nearly a decade. The wands were distinctly inferior, in the Guardian's opinion, as they neither transformed, nor gave any sign of their status. However, they served the Guardian's purpose perfectly.

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**(Malfoy Manor: March 19, 1983)**

Narcissa Malfoy was an expert eavesdropper. As the wife of the most powerful Death Eater in all of the Dark Lord's army, she had long since learned how to surreptitiously listen in on her husband and his compatriots. It was the only way that Narcissa (who was well-aware of the fact that she was a trophy wife to Lucius) was able to prepare for her husband's oft-irrational behavior.

When she had first come to Malfoy Manor, five years ago, to be Lucius Malfoy's wife, she had been naïve. The daughter of two social climbers, and the Niece of the Lord and Lady of the Black family, Narcissa Black had truly believed that she was fortunate to have such a fortuitous marriage arranged. She had quickly been disabused of that notion.

Lucius was a cold and violent man. When he did not get what he wanted, he took it, and when taking it did not please him, he hurt whoever was nearest. Narcissa had learned to eavesdrop, so as to know when not to be at hand. Tonight, she was especially nervous. Tonight, Lucius was talking _business_.

For many people, talking business meant nothing more than discussing the ebb and flow of the marketplace, or engaging in career-specific shoptalk. Lucius, however, had only one business, and that business was the bidding of the Dark Lord. Voldemort's devastating fall had, momentarily, brought to a close that business, but as investigations were closed and bribes were payed out, _business _had begun again.

A younger Narcissa would have said that she was loyal to the Dark Lord's cause. After all, he was the hero of her generation, who would cast off the shackles placed upon Purebloods, and return them to their rightful dominance. Now, she knew better. The Dark Lord was a brutal and insane tyrant whose bigotry was only mildly less inflated than his ego. Years of watching torture, rape, and murder had left her with no pretensions: Muggleborn and Pureblood alike bled and suffered equally, and neither was superior to the other. Her only loyalty now, was to her son.

Draco was a good toddler. Even at the height of the terrible-twos he was quiet. Of course, his father had no tolerance for tantrums and shouting, and his punishments for any misbehavior was very convincing. That had only intensified Narcissa's loathing for her husband. However, she had also seen the Dark Lord in person, and she knew that no one, not even the famed Albus Dumbledore could defeat him. She and every other member of the Pureblood community knew that Voldemort was not dead. She had never been told specifics, but Lucius had told her that he was essentially immortal. No matter how much she thought her son would be better off on the other side, she knew he would not be safe.

At the moment, Lucius was meeting with an old family friend: Edward Crabbe. The hulking brute of a man had lumbered into the house ten minutes ago, and entered the study, a sure sign that tonight's business was very important.

"Silencio!" Her husband's voice hissed from the other side of the door. Bemusingly enough, the sound from the room was not cut off. "Now that we are properly warded, we can begin, Edward."

"Good."

Crabbe's monosyllabic reply was not uncommon for the man. His girth was his only redeeming factor. She was glad that it had been Lucius, and not Crabbe that had expressed interest in her. At least Lucius was more intelligent than an ape. With a slight hint of frustration, Lucius spoke again, "I have been informed by… certain sources, shall we say, that you and a few others wish to know why we are not, at this moment, engaged in a full-fledged search for our Lord."

"Yup. We wanna know why you, Avery, and Nott aint acting." Grunted Crabbe.

Lucius sighed, his gusty exhalation audible through the door. "Before our Lord's unfortunate death, some information came to light that is staying our hand in seeking to bring about our Lord's return. Do you know why our Lord went to the Potter's that night?"

"'Cuz the Potter's were Blood Traitors!"

"I suppose that that entered into the Dark Lord's thoughts, but there was more to it than that." Lucius paused for a moment, allowing what he had said to sink in (Given the similarity of Crabbe's cranium to cement, Narcissa thought that the pause was not nearly long enough). "A year or so before that fateful night, Severus Snape brought a disturbing report to the Inner Circle."

"Any report by Batwings Snape is disturbing."

"I suppose so. At any rate, Snape reported that he had been in the Hog's Head tavern in Hogsmeade on a recruitment mission for the Dark Lord when he saw Dumbledore enter the tavern, and go into a room up the stairs. Snape followed him and listened in at the keyhole."

Crabbe snorted. "Isn't that just like Snape. Always skulking and listening in."

Lucius must have nodded, because there was no response as he said, "Nevertheless we were lucky that Severus chose to listen at that door. The Headmaster was conducting an interview of the Divination Teacher. You may have heard of her, Sybil Trelawney."

Another snort. This one more frustrated than derisive. "What has this got to do with our Lord?"

"Patience, patience, my friend. I am getting there. At first it was a normal interview – If anything, Dumbledore didn't sound too impressed with Trelawney. Then, however, Snape reports that her voice changed, and she began to give a Prophecy. Unfortunately, Severus only heard part of it, as the Barman at the Hog saw him listening in, and threw him out. However, the part that he did hear was very disturbing. _'__The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.'__"_

_Crabbe hissed, and Narcissa felt as though someone had grabbed her heart and stilled it. She had not heard __that __before. It changed everything. Not only was the Dark Lord mortal, the tool for his defeat was already in existence. No, her son's safety was not assured here. In fact, he was in great, great danger._

_It was as if, suddenly, she was free from the cares that had weighed her down. The contradiction between what she knew was right, and what was best for her son was gone. Lucius and Crabbe continued talking, but she was too caught up in her own thoughts._

_'Lucius could be lying. In fact, he probably is. Crabbe would be fooled if Lucius told him that the Dark Lord had declared himself a member of the Department of Muggle Relations. Still… If this is true, I have no excuse for not acting.'_

_It came down to a simple question. Did she gamble on this prophecy being real, and risk her son dying at the hands of the Dark Lord, or did she gamble on the prophecy being false, and risk her son fighting and dying for the wrong side. If she chose the first, she chose the easy to accept answer; the answer that required no action or effort. If she chose the second, she chose the morally right answer, but it was a massive gamble._

_One of the points that Albus Dumbledore had left her graduating class with was that every choice was a choice between what was right and what was easy. She had never set much stock by the old man, but… __'Oh hell… May as well give him a chance.'_

_And, like that, the decision was made. Narcissa almost felt a pop, as though an illusory joint had been popped into place. She breathed a small sigh, and set to work making her plans. _

_In the next room over, Lucius Malfoy escorted Edward Crabbe to the Floo, and picked his wand up off of the mantelpiece. He frowned, and muttered, "That's funny… I could have sworn I put it down on the coffee table."_

_- - - - - - - - - -_

_**(Spinner's End; June 3, 1983)**_

Severus Snape put down his book and picked up the small glass of wine that his House Elf had brought him. He swirled the dark liquid, mildly entranced by it's ripples and waves. It was good to be home.

His study, literally coated in bookshelves, was dimly lit, and the musty smell of books (his only friends, he supposed) filled his nostrils. He took a sip of his wine, and gave a sigh of satisfaction.

It had been a long year. His first year as Potions Professor at Hogwarts had been quite challenging. Snape did not really like children, and the prospect of teaching hundreds of the little monsters the precise art of brewing Potions was something he considered to be, at best, quixotic. Indeed, his younger students were much more skilled at the art of explosives making than they were at making potions (to his amazement, two First Year Ravenclaws had managed to brew TNT while trying to brew a boil-curing potion).

He slammed his free hand down on his desk. He was not going to allow his charges to ruin the only free time he now had. With a determined grimace, he picked up his copy of _"The Many Mystyk Brews of Malaysia" _and began reading again.

After five minutes of staring at the same page, he tossed the book back down on his desk and scowled. To his disgust, he was _bored_. Somehow along the way, teaching day-in and day-out and grading the poorly strung together examples of abstract poetry that Hogwarts Students called essays, he had gotten used to being busy.

It was offensive! It was obscene! Somehow, to his horror, he had found himself _wanting _to return to his slavery at Hogwarts. He grit his teeth and swore that some day, he would extract equal payment from Albus Dumbledore for this indignity (could cursing the man's beloved collection of wool socks do the trick?).

Just as he was about to storm off to his bedroom, a small knock on the shelf-door of his study sounded. "What is it Floopy?"

His poor, dilapidated House Elf shambled in and bowed creakily (Severus winced, almost hearing the creature's spine pop). "Visitors f-for you m-milord."

"Visitors? At this hour! Who?"

The House Elf gave a small smile. "Narcissa Malfoy and Son to see you."

"Send them in."

As Floopy stumbled away, Snape's mind worked overtime. Why would Narcissa Malfoy want to see him at all? The last time they had spoken had been at Draco's christening. For her to seek him out, especially in light of the Dark Lord's recent fall was… Aberrant, in his opinion.

However, before he could begin to hypothesize why the wife of Lucius Malfoy would possibly visit him, Floopy led Narcissa into the room. With her, a small, blond-haired boy, who was sucking on his thumb and looking around with wide eyes came in. "Narcissa. It is good to see you."

She gave him one of the small, ironic smiles that she had been famous for at Hogwarts. "Please, Severus, my friends call me Cissy."

Severus kept his face carefully schooled. As far as he had been aware, the only interest that Narcissa Malfoy had ever had in him was as a political connection to be cultivated. "Would you care for something to drink?"

She shook her head and pulled up a seat. Snape, who was proud of his patience with the silly formalities of day-to-day interaction, nodded. "In that case, what brings you here tonight?"

"What, bringing my son to see his Godfather is not enough, Severus?" A mischievous twinkle gleamed in her eye (Damn the woman! She _knew _he was curious now!). "I'm surprised that Lucius did not contact you ahead of time and tell you that we were on our way."

"While I am glad to see my Godson, I know that it is quite rare for a mother to bring her child to visit anyone, even his Godfather, in the middle of the night, Na- Cissy. I will dispense with formalities, if you prefer. What can I do for you?"

She smiled, this time for real, and avoided his question, "There's the Severus Snape I know!"

He ground his teeth together and raised an eyebrow. "As I said. You want something. What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak with Dumbledore."

He had expected many things. Potions Masters got plenty of strange requests. Whether she was looking for a love potion or a poison, he had been prepared to haggle for it. _This _however, he had not expected. "Dumbledore?"

"Yes, you know, Albus Dumbledore. He's the Headmaster at Hogwarts. Tall, old man with a nose stuck into everyone's business?"

"I know who he is!" Snape snapped, his brow furrowing. "What I was asking was _why _you would want to see Dumbledore."

If he was being honest with himself, he was impressed. Narcissa Malfoy had always seemed to him to be an empty-headed socialite without the ability to plot her way out of a cardboard box. "I wish to see him because… Because something has come to my attention that leads me to believe that I have backed the wrong side."

"A bit late for that, isn't it, Cissy? He's been dead for two years and only _now _you realize that you may have bet on the wrong horse?"

"Dead, Severus?" Another one of those ironic smiles. "Do you really believe that?"

He said nothing, allowing the point to pass. "Nevertheless, why _now_?"

"Because I have recently been made aware of certain… Intelligence I was not previously aware of. I believe that you had no small part in the gathering of said Intelligence."

Blood rushed from Severus' face. If she knew of the Prophecy… "And? The verse in question merely says that Potter has the _power _to defeat the Dark Lord. It does not say that he _will_."

"Harry Potter? Thank you for confirming my suspicions, Severus." He winced, and she paused to laugh at his reaction. "I shall be honest with you. I am not fond of the Dark Lord. The brutal reality of my husband's _business _quickly destroyed any romanticized views I had of Blood Purity. However, I was unwilling to risk my son's life by defecting. If it is true. If the Dark Lord really _can _be defeated, then my son is safer on the side I would prefer."

That was good enough for Snape. In fact, it was not too dissimilar to his own reasons for switching side, save for the fact that he had no son to protect. "You say that Lucius knows you are here?"

"Yes."

"Then nothing can move forward tonight. I will contact Albus, and we will be in touch with you. In the meantime, there are some preparations that you can make."

To his surprise, he had underestimated her again. "They are made, Severus. I have moved a significant part of my husband's wealth into a separate vault, and converted most of it into muggle money. I have prepared every part of my getaway, and made three different contingency plans. Do not worry."

He nodded, and escorted his Godson (who was still sucking on his thumb) and Narcissa from his home. After they had left, he called his elderly House Elf. "Floopy, I need you to go visit Hogwarts and tell the Headmaster that I shall need his assistance with some research of mine. Do give him this note, which explains what I am researching."

He took a small sheet of paper, and scrawled (in his precise and measured handwriting), "Albus, I regret to inform you that my stocks are overrun with excess material that is taking up experimentation space. Do you have a place that I could store some narcissus petals and some snapdragons?"

Surely that cryptic message would alert the Headmaster to just how urgent his message was. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

- - - - - - - - - -

**(Hogwarts Castle; June 8, 1983)**

Narcissa Malfoy felt like a student again. Sitting outside of the Headmaster's office, waiting for his door to open, she could feel the jitters coming over her, reminding her of lectures and punishments from the past. In her arms, Draco slumbered deeply, under the effects of a mild sleeping potion.

The soft murmur of voices from the Headmaster's office was a comfort to her. At least, even with Minerva McGonagall in the room, there had been no emphatic objections. After a few moments of conversation, the murmurs stopped, and the aforementioned Transfiguration Professor opened the door. "The Headmaster will see you now, Ms. Malfoy."

Narcissa's face no doubt showed the strain of her internal battle with laughter. _'Complete with the stern glare, no less. Oh dear, if I'm not careful, maybe they'll be putting me in detention next!'_

She nodded her thanks to the Professor and stepped into the office. It was much the same as she remembered from her time as a student. Behind the large desk, in his overstuffed armchair, Albus Dumbledore's, his eyes twinkling, was regarding her with something akin to concern. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Narcissa."

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Headmaster."

He waved her thanks aside, graciously. "Not at all. Severus explained your situation to me thoroughly, and I could hardly refuse. That said, I am curious to hear from you why you wish to leave Lucius and Voldemort."

She winced, along with the others in the room. She had forgotten the Headmaster's habit of naming the Dark Lord by name. "I am sure that Severus made you aware of how I came across certain knowledge…"

"Indeed. You need say no more."

"As you know, Professor, Draco is my first concern. If it were just myself, I would have left Lucius two years ago, but it would not have been safe for my son. The information that I came across, however, led me to believe that my son was in greater danger where I was than he would be under your protection."

The Headmaster inclined his head. "And so that is why you wished to speak to me. To ask that I protect you, both from your husband and from his compatriots."

She nodded. "I know that you have protected Severus…"

For a moment, he was still; the only sign of his life the maddening twinkle in his eyes. "Would you like a lemon drop, Ms. Malfoy?"

She blinked. Dumbledore was famous for his strange muggle candies, but the non sequitur put her off balance. "No thank you, Professor."

He smiled benignly and popped of the treats into his mouth. "You are correct, Narcissa, that I protect Severus, both from repercussions for his past and from the Death Eaters. However, he had to pay a price for his protection. I hate to have to do this… but –"

"I will spy for you if you wish Professor. If necessary, I will confess completely to the crimes of my husband."

"That will not be necessary." His kindly face showed some sympathy towards her desperation. "While it would be a good thing for the world if Lucius Malfoy were to go to Azkaban, he is more than capable of buying whichever justice he prefers, and not even your confession would be enough to convict him."

"Then what would you have me do?"

His eyes twinkled just a little bit more. "Tell me, Narcissa: have you decided where you will live after this?"

She nodded. "I have some of Lucius' money. I was going to buy a flat and ask you to put it under your protection."

"Nothing that you are attached to, though?"

:"No, not really."

"Wonderful, then." He pulled a key from his pocket. "The favor I shall ask of you is that you live at 2, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey."

"Why?"

He dug out two more pieces of paper and a muggle pen, as well. "You see, Ms. Malfoy, there is a young man living at 4 Privet Drive who I need you to keep an eye on. His Aunt and Uncle are caring him for, but they are muggles, and I would like a Witch or Wizard to keep an eye on Mr. Potter."

She gasped. "Harry Potter?"

He nodded. "Yes. In the name of protecting him, I sent him to live with his relatives that night. A sort of Blood Magic is protecting him while he lives in his Aunt's home. If you stay on Privet Drive, you will be as well protected as he is, and I assure you he is the best protected Wizard in all of Britain."

"Why me, though? Surely someone you know better could-"

He waved off her protests. "Because your son shall be the same age as him, and while his Aunt and Uncle are protecting him, they are – ah, how did Minerva put it – 'The worst kind of Muggles', I want Harry to grow up with friends, and not just grudging family. I had an old squib that was going to move into the neighborhood, but Arabella is happy where she is."

After the dread of what terrible favor he might ask of her, this was a wonderful surprise. "We will do it."

The Headmaster positively _beamed _at her, and handed her the pen. "Wonderful. Please sign here, and 2 Privet Drive shall be yours."

After the formalities were sorted out, she bid the Headmaster farewell. "Thank you for your held, Professor."

"It was my pleasure, my dear."

She strode down the stairs, and out of Hogwarts, a smile on her face. Her first step would be to change her name, and then Draco and Narcissa Black would move into Number 2 Privet Drive. It was a new feeling, but she could tell that she was going enjoy freedom.

- - - - - - - - - -

**Author's Notes: **Not bad for 10 hours of highly interrupted writing, in my opinion. I was a bit rusty from disuse and writer's block. Tomorrow or the next day I am going to hopefully wrap up the next chapter of Seeking a Center and then I shall return to this. I am working to extend my chapters, since I believe 10,000 is a much better goal in terms of word count (this is short chapter because it is the Prologue). If I'm lucky, I'll get a chapter up every couple of weeks over the summer. My job isn't giving me many hours right now, and I'm taking that as an opportunity to write to my heart's content. At any rate, what did you think about it?

A bit more on the direction this is going: This is going to have a certain amount of Super Harry in it, but that should not interfere with the tension and plot of the piece. I'm merely working on leveling the playing field a bit, since Voldemort is most certainly a Super Voldemort. This will be a 7 book series; assuming that I can do more than 40,000 words without forgetting that I have anything to write for months on end. There will also be some commentary and allegory to modern issues. Most of it will be subtle (although my subtle could be someone else's obvious) and if it interferes with the storyline it will simply be removed, but it will be there. I believe that all good literature needs to have some level of commentary (it's there in Harry Potter without my help any way, although Rowling is better at subtlety than I am).


	2. Chapter 2

The World Turned Upside Down 1: Year of the Stone 

**By Smertios**

**Author's Notes: **A couple questions were asked that I'll answer really quickly. The first is regarding Ron's role in this series. Ron will not be a main character, but he will have a role in the series (and it will not be as an antagonist). I like Ron, but I just couldn't get him to fit into the path my plot is taking as a main character without altering him to the point that he would be a completely different character. Apologies to Ron fans. The second question was about the ships: they are final. I've got most of the story plotted out in my head, and a book or so outlined completely, and while I am open to other pairings, in ge4neral (although I prefer HG), they don't fit my plan.

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Chapter 2: Number 2, Privet Drive 

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Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive were nauseatingly normal. Neighbors, speaking behind the backs of the couple, were often heard to comment that _something _had to be wrong with them. Narcissa Black was completely in concurrence with those neighbors. It didn't hurt that she knew their deepest, darkest secret.

Having lived next to the Dursleys for the last nine years, Narcissa thought that their attempts to hide the existence of the scrawny boy who resided underneath their stairway were simultaneously disgusting and humorous. "Dursley, if you don't let me see your nephew, I'll make sure to mention to old Ms. Tubbs at Number 8 that your boy was the one who broke her window."

Vernon Dursley, a comic shade of puce at the moment, sputtered for a moment. Finally, he regained control, and snorted at her, like an angry rhinoceros. "Our Dudley is a perfectly behaved young man. Unlike _your _hooligan of a son, who has _corrupted _our nephew."

Narcissa fought to keep her face straight, but she was sure that a small smile appeared on it anyway. "I saw it with my own eyes, Dursley."

He muttered a suggestion under his breath, which she chose to ignore. "Now then, Dursley, where is Harry?"

It wasn't the first time that she had had such a confrontation with Vernon or Petunia. In fact, she couldn't count on both hands how many times she had done so. On a regular basis, she would realize that she had not seen Harry in a day or two, and she would march over to the Dursleys to demand his release.

The man's moustache quivered, and his face became even purpler. After a staring contest of sorts (all the man's own doing, as Narcissa felt no need to waste her time on him), he whirled about with a curse of frustration, and slid the lock on a small door underneath the stairs open. "Boy, there's someone here to see you."

After a moment, a skinny ten-year-old boy poked his head out of the broom closet, looking at the door with hope shining in his eyes. Narcissa noted that he was too skinny again, and that his glasses had been broken. However, she fixed a smile on her face (the boy saw few enough of those as it was), and held a hand out to the boy. "Harry, Draco was wondering if you would like to come have lunch with us."

The boy's eyes lit up and he nodded. Vernon Dursley eyed Narcissa with great contempt. "Just be sure to have him home soon. He's got a lot of chores to do, and it wouldn't be fair to leave them all to poor Dudders."

At that moment, Dudley Dursley came thundering down the stairs, shaking the whole house. "Dad, Dad! Piers wants to know if I can go fishing with him and his father."

Narcissa cast the walrus look-alike Dursley a small smirk. "Chores. I see. Well then, I shall have him back to do his half of them as soon as Dudley has finished his, shall I?"

Without another word, she took Harry's hand, and led him across the disgustingly clean driveway, past the disgustingly homogenous bushes, and onto the street. "What was it this time?"

The boy sighed and shrugged. "When the Dursley's found out you were going to be away on holiday on Dudley's birthday they had to take me along to the zoo with them. There was this snake, and Dudley was bothering it. The glass disappeared from its cage, and I got blamed."

Narcissa nodded with sympathy. This was normally the case. The boy's accidental magic tended to be very strong, and it tended to get him in all sorts of trouble. "How long did they keep you in there?"

"About a week, I think… " Narcissa felt a stab of guilt. While she and Draco had been on vacation, Harry had been stuck in his "room" for a whole week. There were times when she wanted to forget everything that Dumbledore had ever told her, and call the child protective services on those awful people. Harry, however, had another question to ask. "Ms. Black?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Have you ever heard a snake talk?"

She froze. For a moment the boy shied away from her, as though he expected her to hit him, and she felt a wash of hate for the Dursley's. "I haven't myself, but I've heard of people who have…"

He nodded in content, and they continued their walk in silence. Narcissa was already going over her next letter to Dumbledore in her head. The boy was a Parselmouth! It would be an uncomfortable discovery for most of the Wizarding World that their savior exhibited such a Dark skill, but she felt a small amount of pride for her young charge.

Soon, they turned onto the driveway of the house that she and Draco lived in. It was a fairly normal suburban house, nearly identical to the houses on either side, and painted the dull grey that so many such houses sported. In the driveway, a stereotypical sedan sat, respectably clean.

Narcissa was proud of how good she had become at pretending to be a muggle. When she had first arrived at Privet Drive, her lack of a car, and her less intensive take on lawn care had attracted suspicion, but she had quickly learned to appear as normal as any suburban single mother.

Harry scampered up to the doorway with a grin, and waited impatiently as Narcissa followed at a more sedate pace. When she got to the door, she pulled her key from her pocket, carefully allowing it to tap against her wand, before unlocking the door.

As the door swung open, Draco came dashing down the stairs, grinning at seeing his best friend again after a week of vacation. "Harry! You'll never guess what we saw in Scotland!"

And with that, the two boys were off, discussing the Black's recent holiday. In truth, the true purpose of the trip had been cover for a visit to Hogsmeade to acquire a set of Black family heirlooms from Albus Dumbledore, and transfer those heirlooms to her vault in Gringotts. However, Harry could not know that, as Dumbledore's orders had been that he should not be told that magic existed until he was accepted into Hogwarts.

She walked into the Dining room, waved her wand at the stove (filling the air with a waft of meat pie), and plopped into a nearby chair. _'It won't be long now. Did Albus not say that he would receive the letter upon his Birthday? Three days, then.'_

One of the things that she had procured from Dumbledore was a charm that kept all visitors to the house from noticing the many signs of magic in the house. It wasn't that the magic was invisible, or that it stopped, it was just that the muggle's eyes would wander over magical things, taking them for granted, as they would anything else, and their brains would never realize what they had seen. What this meant was that Harry could come over on a nearly daily basis as he did, without it being a problem.

In the way that only boys who had known each other for nearly their whole lives could act, the boys were practically impossible to separate. Of course, it didn't hurt that Harry's home was more of a prison than a home, and Narcissa was willing to feed him regularly.

When Narcissa had first met the boy, he was so thin that you could see his ribs through his shirt. She had not even recognized the child that she'd seen in the newspapers so often in the ragged, starving young man she had seen picking weeds outside of the Dursley's home.

Wizard's cores depended on them receiving proper nutrition. Wizards or witches who did not receive enough food as children would have stunted magical, as well as physical growth. The Dursleys had been literally _starving _the magic out of the boy.

She had put an end to that. Now, Harry was of a healthy weight, although whenever he was shut into his closet she had to start from the beginning and get him back up to a healthy weight.

With a sigh, she waved her wand again, summoning the pie from the oven. "Boys! Lunch!"

---- ---- ---- ----

"Harry! You'll never guess what we saw in Scotland!"

Harry grinned at his best friend's enthusiasm. The pale, blonde-haired boy was practically grinning from ear to ear. "Oh?"

"Well, when we got out of the f- er, car, at my school, there was this huge lake. And guess what they had in it? A giant squid! For real!"

Harry chuckled at that. Draco was occasionally given to exaggeration, and it was much likelier that there had been a small squid or octopus. Nevertheless, he gave Draco an impressed look. "Really? What was it like?"

"Kinda pink, with huuuuuge tentacles!"

Draco and he walked into the living room, which featured a large fireplace, two couches, and some pictures (Harry didn't spend much time on these, as they seemed to be rather incidental). A bookshelf in the corner sported some board games and a small, rather old television. Draco flipped this on, and the boys sprawled out on the two couches.

For a few moments, they watched the television in silence. After a moment, Draco spoke again. "Still planning on going to Greyback School?"

Harry scowled, and nodded. Draco had been admitted to a prestigious private school in Scotland, and was going there, leaving Harry alone at the local public school. "It's Greystone… I think."

"And Dinky-Diddums is still going to Smellings?

"Yeah."

Harry sighed and watched the cartoon on the television with disinterest. After a moment he spoke again. "I wish I was going somewhere else. Y'know, get away from the Dursleys for a while."

"You never know, mate. For all you know, you could be accepted at the best school in all of Britain."

_That _made Harry laugh. "Yeah… The school I never applied to is just going to send me a letter. 'Dear Mister Potter, it has come to our attention that you are brilliant and amazing, and deserve a full ride scholarship at Eton. Your chauffeur will be waiting outside.' I wish."

Draco chuckled appreciatively, and nodded. "Well don't give up quite yet. In no time, you'll be an adult, and the Dursleys won't be able to tell you a ruddy thing."

"It would be nice to do something important. Uncle Vernon would be so angry if I ended up with a better job than him. Imagine if I were Prime Minister or something…"

"You'd never sleep in a closet again."

"I'd make _him_ sleep in the closet."

Draco made a few gestures, as though trying to cram something through a doorway. "Minister, he won't fit in this one either!"

"Boys! Lunch!"

Still giggling, they dashed off into the kitchen.

--- --- --- --- ---

A few days later, Harry awoke to his uncle pounding down the stairs above his closet (not that this was anything new, but Harry was of the opinion that it was always worth note when his ceiling looked ready to give under a family member's weight). The man smacked his hand into the door of Harry's closet. "Boy! Get up! The mail is here!"

Vernon then continued to walk, passing the mail where in sat on the floor, and trudging into the kitchen with a grunt of disapproval.

Harry, bleary eyed from his sudden jolt into wakefulness, stumbled out of his cupboard and scrounged the mail from the ground. _'Junk. Junk. Really junk. From Aunt Marge, so _really _junk.'_

His finger snagged on the next letter, which was addressed in brilliant green ink and addressed to him. _'Mr. Harry James Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive. That's funny. I never get mail…'_

Dudley thundered past, and dashed into the kitchen, snagging a seat at the table (which was currently set with food made by Aunt Petunia, because Harry was banned from touching food since all the eggs he had cooked had started turning green when he was 6). Harry hid the letter from his view, and then carefully slid it up his sleeve, where it would go unnoticed. He was sure that none of the Dursleys would tolerate him having mail of his own. The last time Draco had sent him a postcard while he was on vacation; the Dursleys had taken it and burned it before he could read it.

He sat down at the table, beside his allotted bread and water, and ate it as quickly as he could, without provoking a scolding from the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon, being fairly grumpy in the morning, grumbled the whole meal about Harry's laziness. Harry, who was more pre-occupied with his letter, forgot to even make his normal mental retorts to the man.

"Boy, did you hear me?" Vernon's growled query was accompanied by a pinch from Aunt Petunia. "I said you will weed the garden and then mow the lawn today. If that Black woman shows up, you're to tell her that you are busy, and she and her horrid wretch of a son are to leave you alone."

Harry nodded glumly, while mentally noting that calling Draco a horrid wretch was rich coming from the Dursleys, whose son was known for terrorizing all the other children on the block along with his gang of brutish followers.

"Good, now get to work."

He was about to protest that he had not finished his meal, when Aunt Petunia whisked his plate and cup away, and pulled his chair from under him. He was braced, and so he landed on his feet, but he felt a surge of anger at his Aunt nonetheless.

Harry walked out of the kitchen, and through the front door, stopping to grab his gardening equipment (two gloves that Narcissa Black had bought him a few years back, a pair of rusty shears, and an old, beaten-up trowel) from his cupboard. The letter up his sleeve slipped his mind, and he got to work on the garden.

If it were not for his long-standing friendship with Draco, Harry surmised that he might have become exactly what the Dursleys wanted: a spineless boy who accepted his lot in life. Draco, however, had taught him the power of indignation. Thanks to Draco's indignation on his part, Harry knew perfectly well that the way the Dursleys treated him was wrong, and he was currently quite angry at the morning's abuse.

He had long since resolved that the best revenge was living well. Rather than stooping to the Dursley's level and engaging in petty games of dominance, Harry was determined to not only be better than them, but to be more successful than them while doing so.

Around noon, a voice from the pavement bordering the Dursley's lawn, called out to him. "Oi! Freak!"

Dudley, Pierce, and a few other members of Dudley's gang were standing, grinning maliciously, and cracking their knuckles. Without a word, Harry dropped his tools and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Before he could make it past the driveway, Gordon, the thinnest, fastest member of the gang snagged him. "You aren't going anywhere, four-eyes!"

He and Piers held Harry's hands behind his back as Dudley pulled his fist back, and rammed it into Harry's stomach. Colors burst before Harry's eyes, and fire lanced throughout his abdomen. His breath whooshed from his lungs, and he sagged down against his assailant's arms.

Dudley pulled his fist back to slam it into the side of Harry's face, but a cry interrupted him. "Dursley! Put him DOWN!"

Draco was stalking down the walk, his fists balled, and his eyes flashing with anger. Dudley, who had been in one too many scraps with Draco (who was surprisingly adept at scrapping, for such a skinny boy) to want another, quickly waved his gang off of Harry, and sped down the Drive in the opposite direction.

Harry thudded to the ground, and held his stomach for a moment as he gasped for breath. A moment or two later, his friend reached his side and propped him up. Draco still looked angry, but he did not give chase. "You okay, mate?"

After a moment of wheezing, Harry nodded, and rubbed his stomach, which was still burning with pain. In a pained voice, he wheezed out, "Been worse. Thanks for the save."

Draco waved off his thanks and hauled him to his feet. "Why don't you just hit _back?_ The least you could do is give them some trouble for their jollies."

"And have their parents call the Dursleys and tell them about how I brutalized their sons? Thanks, but I think I'll skip that."

His friend grunted in acknowledge, and scuffed his foot in frustration. "I just hate that there's nothing you can do."

Harry had long sense been disabused of any sense of justice in the Dursley's home, and simply shrugged. "Eventually, there will be. Dudley's heading nowhere good. If he's lucky, he'll simply be a washout with no future and nothing to his name. If he's unlucky, he'll end up a gangster rotting away in prison."

A moment of silence stretched into a number of moments of silence, and Draco have a curt nod. Harry let the tension drift away for a moment, and then adopted a smile. "I'm to tell you that I have no time to spend with such a wretched boy, and that I must do my chores."

The blonde snorted in derision. "Cool. Wanna come over and check out some of the comics I bought?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. "If I don't get the lawn done the Dursleys will give me hell tonight."

"I'll give you a hand then."

For an hour or so, they worked on the garden, weeding and trimming, keeping a wary eye on the door and windows (it wouldn't do to have Aunt Petunia see Draco, Harry reasoned, as she was unlikely to forgive him directly disobeying the order to have nothing to do with Draco). As they wrapped that up, Harry pulled the lawnmower out of the garage and pushed it around the yard.

Draco, who had taken refuge from the summer sun and the Dursley's eyes beneath the shade of the ledge, casually watched while resting. After an hour or so of work, Harry was done, and he stowed his equipment back into the shed. As he was tucking the lawnmower away, the letter that he had shoved up his sleeve drifted to the floor, and he stooped to pick it up.

He lazily strolled out into the lawn, whilst eying the envelope with curiosity. Draco met him at the walk, and they began a slow stroll towards his home (Harry figured that the Dursleys would not look for him until dinner, when they would want someone to clean up after them). Draco glanced at the envelope in interest (and, in retrospect, Harry thought, with anticipation). "What's that?"

"You mean it wasn't you who sent it?"

Draco shook his head. "No. Never seen it before."

"I figured that you had sent it, since whoever wrote it knew about my cupboard." Harry pointed out the odd way in which the letter was addressed. "I wonder who it could have been, then."

"Open it and let's find out."

Harry opened the letter, and was surprised to find that it contained not paper, but parchment, similarly adorned with green ink, this time in a very tight, official looking script.

"_'Dear Mr. Potter. We are glad to inform you of your admittance into Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'_"

He stopped reading and laughed aloud (albeit feeling some regret that his letter had just been a prank). "Right… Okay, it's just a prank. I wonder how they knew about the cupboard, though."

Harry raised the letter and was prepared to tear it in half, when Draco caught his arm. "Wait."

He paused for a moment, giving his friend an incredulous stare. Then it hit him. He began to laugh harder. "I get it! You sent it."

Draco shook his head, his eyes wide with honest concern. "No, look Harry, it's for real."

"Yeah right. And Unicorns really gallop across the fjords of Norway."

Draco muttered something under his breath. "What did you say?"

The blonde's face turned red. "I said, 'Some of them'."

Harry just rolled his eyes. He stuffed the letter back into the envelope, and was about to ask Draco to cut the act when his friend looked him dead in the eyes with a serious expression on his face. "Harry, I'll explain everything in a minute, just promise you'll hear me out, okay?"

With a shrug, Harry acquiesced to his friend's request. He pulled the letter out, and read the rest. It was a surprisingly good forgery, with a great deal of detail. The equipment list seemed reasonable, and the details of the letter were fairly clear. However, there were small things, like the term Mugwump, which made it clearly fake.

Another moment of walking brought them to the front door, which Draco knocked on loudly. They waited, and after a minute or so, Narcissa Black opened it. To Harry's surprise, Draco smiled broadly and pointed to Harry's letter. "Look, Mum! Harry's Hogwarts letter came!"

His mother smiled at her son's enthusiasm and waved them in the door. She noted the confusion on Harry's face, and patted his arm. "Don't worry, dear. We'll explain it all to you. Why Dumbledore didn't send a staff member, or bring it himself, I don't know…"

"Dumbledore…" That was the name from the letter. How had she known? It seemed unimaginable that composed, caring Ms. Black would take part in a prank of any sort, let alone such an outlandish one. "He was in the letter."

She smiled and bustled them both into the dining room, pulling out cups for tea. "Of course, dear. He _is _the Headmaster of Hogwarts, you know. "

She set the cups down on the table (Harry noted that they were puzzlingly empty), along with an empty platter. To his surprise, she then pulled out a long, thin stick of wood and muttered a few words, before tapping the tray and each of the cups. He jumped back (narrowly missing knocking his teacup over and sending his chair clattering to the ground) as biscuits appeared on the plate, and the cups filled with tea, like the reverse of water going down a bathtub drain.

For a moment, he sputtered. "Huh… But, what? Wait. How?"

Narcissa smiled impishly and put the stick back in her pocket. "Magic, of course."

Draco guffawed at his friend's astounded expression. "Close your mouth, mate, you're letting in flies."

"Draco," his mother scolded, "Leave the poor boy alone. Besides which, the pest-repelling charms on the house will keep any flies away."

The young Black rolled his eyes at her, but nodded. Harry's wits finally returned to him, and he picked his chair up, and sat down. "What on earth is going on?"

"You're a wizard, mate. A good one too, if family history is any measure."

Narcissa shushed Draco, and passed Harry a chocolate biscuit. "We knew this would happen. After those dreadful muggles told you nothing about your past, Dumbledore said it would be best to wait until they couldn't stop you from going."

"Muggles?"

"Non-magic folk, Harry." Narcissa took a sip of tea, and paused for a moment in thought. "I suppose I had best start from the beginning. First, magic is real, although rarely what muggles think it to be with their silly images of long bearded old men with magic horses and swords and squat old women with warts on their noses. Second, wizards and witches have been living out of sight of muggle culture for the last 500 years."

"In this case, I believe the story begins in the late 1960s. A young and brilliant wizard went very bad. I wish I could say it didn't happen often, but with power comes corruption, and powerful wizards tend to either be outstandingly good or outstandingly evil. At any rate, this young man raised an army of followers and laid siege to the Wizarding world with his followers."

Harry nodded, still a little too shocked to argue with the outstanding claims she was making. "What was his name?"

Narcissa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and made a face. "We don't like to say it. Normally we just call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who. But well… His name was V-Voldemort."

She looked around for a moment, as if checking to see that the aforementioned wizard had not appeared in her dining room with his army of followers. After a moment, she continued her story. "You-Know-Who began his reign of terror by attempting to recruit old magical families to his cause. He would give them one chance to join him, and if they refused, he would kill them. Many families flocked to his cause, some from loyalty, others from fear. Others were killed. It seemed like no one, not even Albus Dumbledore, the man who defeated the previous Dark Lord could end his reign."

"On Halloween in 1981, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named arrived at your family's home in Godric's Hollow. Lily and James fought him, but he killed both of them. And then he turned his wand upon you. No one had ever survived a curse from You-Know-Who before, but when he turned his wand on you, you survived, and he disappeared."

Harry's memory tossed up a flash of green light, and he let out a breath. "So it's all real then, is it?"

Narcissa nodded. "Professor Dumbledore didn't think You-Know-Who was truly gone, and so you were sent to the Dursleys because they were your closest relatives. The Headmaster cast a spell on you that defends you as long as you live in their house. A year or so later I was sent to watch over you, when Dumbledore found out how the Dursleys were treating you. We would have told you sooner, but we were told to wait so that the Dursleys did not have time to prevent you from coming to Hogwarts or cut you off from the Wizarding world."

He sagged back in his chair, while Draco and Narcissa watched him for a response. After a moment, Harry accepted that what his eyes had told him had to be correct. "There's no way that the Dursleys will ever let me go, you know."

Narcissa smiled a predatory smile. "Leave that to me. By the time I'm done with them, they'll be begging you to go. I take it this means you intend to go?"

Harry nodded, and Draco let out a whoop. Narcissa nodded and walked over to the door that opened into the back yard and slid it open. A moment later, a large eagle owl flapped to the ground before her, and she scribbled something on a piece of paper before tying it to the bird's leg. "Take this to Professor Dumbledore, Phineas."

The owl hooted and flew off, while Harry watched in amazement. Draco laughed and said, "Looks like you'll be going to school with me after all, mate. What did I say?"

Harry grinned a little and nodded. He glanced at his letter and read the list of required equipment with interest. "Where do I get all of this?"

"Diagon Alley, of course!" Narcissa closed the door and returned to her seat at the table. "We'll be going in a week, and we will take you with us. The Goblins at Gringotts would like to meet with you about something there, so we'll meet with them as well."

Harry nodded and took a sip of his (now cold) tea. The rest of the evening was spent on tales from Narcissa's Hogwarts years, and on descriptions of the Wizarding world. Harry set off for the Dursleys with both of the Blacks with a broad grin on his face. It wasn't how he had planned it, but he was getting away from the Dursleys, and that was enough.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

**Author's Notes**: Chapter 12 of Seeking a Center is about 20 done and I'd like to have it done some time this weekend or next week, depending on what the strains of reading and homework for class place on me. I had to switch to Word 2007 when I came to college, so some of my formatting might be utterly fubared (I hate it, by the way. It combines all of the most annoying set of things from previous copies of Word with its own set of obnoxious quirks and obstacles).

I'm afraid that my grasp of British English is not as good as I'd like, and I'm probably missing more than my fair share of proper phrasings. I do my best, but I know that there are a number of very American phrases in there. Look out for the next chapter of Year of the Stone: Diagon Alley and the Black Estate.


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